


As The Crow Flies

by bendingsignpost



Series: Tumblr Fic [23]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels Are Known, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Wing Grooming, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 19:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19911271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost
Summary: Cross country road trips with Cas are thebest.





	As The Crow Flies

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous said:  
> Avian (Bird People) AU/Road trip AU, please

Cross country road trips with Cas are the _best_. 

Used to be, back in the day, Dean would do this kind of thing with Sammy, instead of doing it for a visit with the guy. Nowadays, Dean loads up a cooler in the backseat on top of a bunch of towels, sticks his suitcase in the trunk next to Cas’, and cranks up whatever music he wants. 

He drives solo, more or less, his walkie-talkie bouncing along the bench seat all morning. When it crackles, he gropes along the seat for it, eyes still on the road. Holding down the button, he asks, “Say again?”

“We should take a break at the next rest stop,” Cas answers. 

“Food or bathroom?” Dean’s still good for food, and they both know Cas can stop for a snack and catch back up without problems. Stupid flying asshole, traveling without speed limits. 

“It’s the one with the fun magnets,” Cas says, entirely serious.

Dean rolls his eyes, finger over the button. After a glance to the fuel gauge, he presses down. “Yeah, okay.”

When Dean pulls into the parking lot, Cas is circling low, drawing the eyes of more than a few other travelers. Dean parks, Cas lands in front of the hood, and Dean grabs a towel from the backseat before exiting the car. 

Unbuttoning his long tan travel coat, Cas maneuvers his wings out the long slits, sliding the coat off. He picks it up off the ground, folding it bug-splatter-side-in, and wordlessly exchanges it for the towel. Dean sticks the coat in the backseat and grabs a second towel. This early into the trip, Cas’ wings are in good shape, but Dean’s not about to pass up the opportunity to help him groom. The black feathers are so damn silky, and Cas fluffs them up for better access in a motion like a full-body smile. 

“Goggles,” Dean reminds him before the head inside. 

Nodding, Cas lowers the goggles to hang around his neck, but his wild hair still looks like he pulled them off entirely. Inside, Cas washes his face in the bathroom while Dean takes a leak. While Cas inspects the entire wall of weird magnets in the gift shop, Dean pauses in front of shelves of snacks he knows he doesn’t need. 

“You want some jerky?” he calls over as Cas gets into line behind a petite woman with her arms full of Red Bull. 

“We don’t need jerky,” Cas calls back. 

“‘Cause I could get jerky.”

“You have sandwiches in the cooler.”

“Yeah, but they’re not jerky.”

Over the short shelves, Cas just _looks_ at him.

Cas gets his magnets. 

Dean does not get his jerky. 

  


  


  


While Dean tops up the tank, Cas gears back up. The travel coat gets buttoned along his front and around his wings. The goggles go back in place. The magnets go into the Impala’s backseat. 

“The burger place?” Cas asks. 

Dean checks his watch and consults his mental map. “Yeah, should be lunchtime by then.”

“Your usual?”

“Yeah, unless something looks better.”

Cas nods and takes off, flapping his way back up into the sky before riding the thermals above the highway. 

Dean watches, because Dean always watches. Then he screws the cap onto the tank, declines a receipt, and gets back on the road. 

  


  


  


Inside the burger place, Cas is sitting at a table for four in front of a meal for two, his folded lump of a coat making it look like his dining companion is already there. Dean sits down and digs in, the pair of them merely grunting through mouthfuls by way of greeting. 

Cas keeps his wings carefully folded where he sits sideways on a chair meant for humans, his elbow perched on the back of the chair. The chairs are high enough that his wingtips don’t touch the floor, but it’s not just these tiny accommodations that keep this joint on their map. 

Juicy burgers, cheese melted just right to tether the bacon to it, the pickles underneath the paddy, the lettuce under the pickles, making sure neither pickle juice nor burger drippings escape into the bun. The giant burgers hold firm until nearly the end, until Dean’s half-slurping the remains off his fingers and watching Cas do the same in a way that ought to be disgusting but never is. 

They lean back with matching sighs, wash their hands with the complementary wet wipes, and then slump forward to pick their way through freshly made potato chips, licking salt off their fingers as they go. 

“What’s the weather look like ahead?” Cas asks, forcing Dean to again wipe his hands off or else render his phone greasy. 

Dean thumbs along their route while Cas continues to crunch through the chips. “Might be rain by the time we hit the mountains. _Might_ be,” Dean stresses as Cas pulls a face. 

Cas gestures for the phone, but Dean only passes it over once Cas wipes his hands. As Cas inspects the weather, he opens his mouth, looking pointedly at Dean. 

“What am I, your mom?” Dean sticks potato chips into Cas’ mouth anyway as Cas searches. 

“We should stop for the night, around here,” Cas says, showing Dean the phone screen. 

“Yeah, that’s a good estimate.”

Since Dean has the greasy hands again, Cas is the one to book the motel, but then again, Cas is the one who knows how to find beds that cater to non-human body shapes. They get pretty sparse in some parts of the country.

That sorted, they take their time heading out. Check-in lasts until midnight; they’ve got plenty of time, and Cas’ stomach is heavy. It’s nice out, too, the sun shining hard around puffs of clouds. The rest stop the burger joint is attached to is pretty small, dusty side road in front, patchy forest in back, but Cas starts walking around back with his travel coat on, so Dean follows. 

“Don’t,” Cas says, which is exactly how Dean knows that he totally has to watch. 

“I won’t take pictures this time,” Dean swears. 

Cas eyes him with absolute distrust until Dean takes out his phone and sets it down on the ground, as if disarming himself in a hostage situation. 

Still looking at Dean suspiciously, Cas walks off the road slowly, stepping down into a dusty ditch. 

Dean holds up both hands, showing clearly that he absolutely cannot take any photos of this. 

After one final glare, Cas finally lies down and starts flopping his wings around in the dirt. 

Dean absolutely does not laugh. 

At all. 

After about five minutes of Dean absolutely not snickering, Cas gets back up, entirely covered in dust. The look of satisfaction on his face as he stretches out and shakes his wings is immense... probably because of how Dean starts coughing. 

“I told you,” Cas says, as if that was totally what his warning was about. 

Bending to pick up his phone, Dean flips him off.

Cas follows him back to the car for no particular reason. 

“Keep going until rain or snack time?” Dean checks. 

Cas nods, more dust puffing out of his hair. 

“Cool,” Dean says, and Cas is good enough to let Dean get back inside the car and close the door before taking off in a dusty cloud. 

  


  


  


Halfway through the mountains, it starts to rain. 

The walkie-talkie crackles. “ _Deeeeeeean,”_ Cas whines. 

“Rest stop or side of the road?” Dean dutifully asks. 

“Rest stop.”

“Okay, hang tight.”

  


  


  


The next rest stop is a small building with three bathrooms (men, women, family) and four vending machines (healthy drink, soda, snacks, ice cream bars). Outside are a pair of wet picnic tables. It’s impossible not to notice Cas, standing at the front wall of the building, a long window of a wall, with his wings stretched out to either side and his mouth in a clear sulk. 

Dean grabs his umbrella and all the towels, save one. That last towel preemptively goes over the back of the front seat, shotgun side. 

Inside the building, Cas accepts the towels gratefully, even if Dean does toss one directly on Cas’ wet head. Cas simply towels his hair dry, sticking it up in every direction. Dean works on one wing, stroking it dry. “At least it got all the dust off you,” Dean says. “Not letting you in my car dusty.”

Cas grumbles something, preening his other wing. 

Before they head back out, Dean takes a leak and Cas contorts himself beneath the hand dryers. They’re not automatic, so Cas has to keep slapping the buttons, but he’s still looking at least a little fluffy by the time Dean needs the hand dryer for himself. 

They drape the towels around Cas before heading back out into the rain, Dean holding the umbrella above them both since Cas has taken his coat off. Getting Cas into the car is always a bit of a production, so Dean leaves the umbrella with Cas before sliding into the back seat and guiding Cas’ wings home. The wingtips fold against the seat well, as if Cas is at once upright in a chair and seated cross-legged on the floor. Dean sticks the towels where they need to go, namely, between the floor and the wet, buggy travel coat, and under Cas’ wings. He strokes Cas’ wings better into position, because it’s always better to stroke, not pull, everybody knows that, it’s just one of those manners things, not pulling out a guy’s feathers by mistake. 

Cas gets settled in and passes back the folded umbrella. 

“Want anything while I’m back here?” Dean asks. 

Experimentally, Cas twists around and easily manages to get a hand on the cooler. Looking at Dean directly, Cas shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“Cool.” 

Dean ducks around outside and gets back in the driver’s seat only a little soaked, the shower turning into a deluge. He turns on the headlights even before he turns on the music. 

They drive. 

  


  


  


Dinner comes out of the cooler, sandwiches colder on one side than the other from being pressed up against frozen water bottles. Cas feeds Dean by hand, yet another one of those species norms they don’t need to talk about, and Dean focuses on driving safely through the endless curtain of rain. 

Dean’s ears pop from the altitude, and Cas pointedly doesn’t mock him for it. 

“The mountains look strange from down here,” Cas says, glaring out the window. 

“Yeah?” 

“Mm.”

  


  


  


Miles pass before the rain does. By then, Dean’s driving toward the sunset and they’ve reached the portion of the drive where Cas usually gets into the car, his night vision worse than Dean’s. 

Cas plays some kind of game on his phone as the sun slinks beneath the highway, finally allowing Dean to take his shades off and stop squinting. The clouds part enough for stars to take glimpses at them. Sometimes, when Dean glances over, Cas is looking back; in the dim light of Cas’ phone, Dean’s probably the only thing Cas can really see. 

Dean turns his music down as the night deepens, even though the volume would probably help keep him awake. This way, though, he can hear the shifting of Cas’ feathers, the sound of Cas’ shirt against the seat as Cas rolls his shoulder. 

“Getting fidgety?” Dean asks. 

“No,” Cas says.

When Dean checks, Cas is still looking at him. 

“We can stop sooner,” Dean points out, getting his eyes back on the road. “Didn’t put any money down on the motel reservation.”

“I’m fine,” Cas says. “Just thinking.”

“Yeah?”

Cas hums. 

  


  


  


Three exits away from their motel and two hours until they’re too late for even a midnight check-in deadline, Cas gets fidgety again. 

This time, Dean’s fighting exhaustion hard enough, he initially assumes Cas reaching over the back of the seat is a reach to grab an energy drink. It takes him a couple seconds to realize he hasn’t heard the cooler’s lid open. 

“You okay there, Cas?” Dean asks. 

“Yes,” Cas answers quietly. 

Slowly, Cas moves his arm up. His fingertips touch Dean’s opposite shoulder. Then Cas’ palm. His entire arm presses a warm line along Dean’s upper back. 

Dean is abruptly very, very awake. 

“Are you okay, Dean?” Cas asks softly. 

Eyes trained out on the road, Dean nods stiffly, almost furtively. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m. I’m good.”

Cas squeezes his shoulder, and Dean leans back into the touch. 

“Good,” Cas repeats. 

“Good,” Dean agrees. 

  


  


  


One exit away from their motel, Cas moves his hand and starts a simple massage against the back of Dean’s neck. 

Dean groans, involuntary. 

Cas stops. 

Dean almost asks, but Cas starts again. 

Dean melts. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” Cas warns. 

“Almost there,” Dean promises. 

  


  


  


If the bleary-eyed receptionist thinks them strange, she must not have the energy to care. She simply slides Cas a form, takes his credit card, and waits for both of them to sign and for Dean to write the make and model of his car. She takes the info and slides them a single key. 

“Thanks,” they say in tired unison before trooping back out. Dean slowly drives the Impala up to their door. Cas follows on foot, following the taillights, and Dean keeps those lights on until Cas stands beside the rear door. 

They don’t bother hauling in their suitcases, only the cooler, carried between them. Inside, there are two beds, both of a human make, but there’s a reclining desk chair that should work well enough for Cas, if he sits backwards on it. 

Dean transfers the contents of the cooler into the mini-fridge while Cas uses the bathroom. When Cas comes out, they switch. Dean takes a shower, the normal wet kind with no dust involved, and when he emerges in his undershirt and boxers, Cas has stowed away all the food and put the water bottles into the tiny freezer. 

Touching the bed, the sheets feel kinda gross. Dean dutifully goes out to the car to fetch the towels, now dry if a little crunchy. He spreads one out on top of his bed of choice and lies down, eyes closed against the lamp on the bedside table. Cas will turn them off when he’s ready, and the guy always needs the lights. 

“Dean,” Cas says. 

Dean sits up. 

Cas stands by the desk chair, motionless in his striped boxers and white halter top of an undershirt. His wings jut high above his shoulders in indecision. 

“What’s up?” Dean asks. 

“The bed would be more comfortable,” Cas says, and he isn’t looking at the empty queen. 

Dean’s pulse rides high in his throat. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay. Whatever’s good for you, man.”

A frown on his face and uncertainty in his wings, Cas steps closer, careful to fold his wings tight in the space between the beds. He takes a pillow off the other bed. With his free hand, he gestures at Dean, Dean’s lower body. 

“Can I...?”

Unsure of what Cas is asking, Dean nods anyway.

Cas shuffles onto the bed, walking on his knees, wings raised high for balance. He straddles Dean’s thighs. Slowly, holding the pillow tight, he sinks down, puts some of his weight on Dean’s legs. 

Lying beneath him, not otherwise daring to move, Dean nods. 

Cas keeps staring down, keeps questioning with his eyes. 

Dean reaches over and turns off the light. 

With the permission of darkness, Cas puts the pillow on Dean’s chest and sinks down, folding himself in half, his weight on both Dean and on the wrists of his wings, pressed against the bed on either side of Dean’s head. 

Nesting down, Cas adjusts by tiny increments, the top of his head against the side of Dean’s jaw. Folded and kneeling and lying down at once, Cas sighs against Dean’s chest. 

Gently, the touch delicate, Dean strokes his fingertips across the underside of Cas’ wing. 

Cas shivers. 

“Okay?” Dean asks. 

“Yes,” Cas whispers, and nestles down closer, lying down atop Dean as if brooding a clutch of eggs. 

For a long while, Dean lies awake petting Cas’ side, Cas’ wings, too busy dreaming to sleep. 

  


  


  


In the morning, they eat snacks for breakfast, load up the cooler, load up the car, and only then riffle through their suitcases, still in the trunk, for a change of clothes. Cas keeps the same outerwear as the day before, unwilling to dirty more clothing through flight, but Dean changes entirely. When Dean emerges from the bathroom, Cas comes forward to just the lay of Dean’s collar. 

Dean leans closer. 

They kiss once, softly. The scent of toothpaste lingers more strongly than the taste. 

They stare at each other. 

“Coffee?” they ask in awkward unison. 

Dean coughs a laugh. 

Cas’ wings fluff. 

  


  


  


They order coffee at a drive-thru, Cas bundled into the front seat without any towels required. The underpaid employee rubs his eyes after passing their coffees over, but Dean just grins and Cas fails to notice the spectacle he makes. 

They drive together until the coffee runs out, and even then, Cas doesn’t twitch and fidget to be let out into the clear skies. 

Instead, he wraps his arm around Dean’s shoulder, absently—or not so absently—playing with Dean’s hair. 

Come mid-morning, they stop for a leak and more fuel. Cas gets another coffee, a small this time, and he’s finished with it by the time Dean’s screwing the cap back on the tank. 

“Turn your walkie on,” Cas says, buttoning his travel coat down the front while Dean buttons up the back. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says. 

Cas turns around. 

They kiss again, a little longer than before, but maybe next to a gas pump isn’t the best location. Dean’s knees try to buckle anyway.

Cas takes off. 

Dean drives. 

About nothing, around everything, through tiny fits and spurts, between the crackle of old tech and the whistle of the wind, they talk. 

  


  


  


Lunch is their penultimate stop, a generic pizza place set into a generic service station like just another Lego piece. They eat outside despite a lack of picnic tables, only a plastic bench. Cas perches on the back of it, feet on the seat, wings splayed to catch the sunlight and bask in it. Dean sits up next to him, a blanket of feathers around his shoulder as they both eat. 

Dean leans back too far into that embrace, nearly falls off, and while Cas catches him, it’s clear Cas is never going to let him live it down either. 

  


  


  


“Meet you in the parking lot?” Dean asks. 

“You park, I’ll get Sam.”

Dean considers it, nodding his head from side to side. Pressing down the button, he relents with a simple, “Fine.”

He circles through the apartment lot while Cas circles overhead, guiding Dean toward the correct side of the building. Dean parks and climbs out of the car, stretching, and he waves up. 

Waving back, Cas swoops down to the appropriate balcony six stories up. 

Shielding his eyes against the sun, Dean squints up. 

The balcony door opens. Sam steps out and immediately hugs Cas. 

Grinning like an idiot, Dean waves up from the lot.

Cas turns Sam around, pointing down, and they both wave. 

“Be right down,” Sam says into the walkie-talkie. “Gimme five minutes.”

“Any longer, and we leave without you,” Dean threatens. 

“Uh-huh,” Sam says before theatrically handing the walkie back to Cas, making sure Dean knows Sam’s gotten the last word. 

As Sam goes back inside, Cas jumps over the balcony fence and glides down in gentle circles. He lands in front of the cars, pulls his wings in tight, and joins Dean between the Impala and a Camry. “Five minutes?” Cas asks, turning, his arms and wings both stretching out to frame Dean against the Impala. 

“Five minutes,” Dean confirms. 

Feathers fluffed from nape to wingtip, Cas presses Dean against the car, and presses himself closer still. 

  


  


  


  


(“Gross,” Sam says eight minutes later, out of breath and clearly embarrassed for them. “You’ve been dating for years, why are you still like this?”

Cas and Dean stare at Sam blankly. 

Then Dean laughs and smacks the most over the top kiss against Cas’ cheek.

“Years,” Dean says, grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah. Sure, Sammy.”)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, to see what else I'm working on, you can follow me on [tumblr here](http://bendingsignpost.tumblr.com/) or [dreamwidth here](http://https://bendingsignpost.dreamwidth.org/).


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